


Honey

by Eruphadriel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Family, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruphadriel/pseuds/Eruphadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a seemingly-petty argument shatters the calm between him and Triss, Cullen takes action to show her how much she means to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Honey - Part One

The sound of Cullen's fork scraping desperately across his empty his plate won a smile from Triss. He pushed the last pink flakes of salmon onto his fork with his knife and devoured them. When he was finished, he sat back and smiled wanly.

"Wow," remarked Triss. "It must have been good. You haven't said a word since we sat down."

Cullen grinned and brought his cup of wine to his lips. "You know I love your salmon, Inquisitor," he said before taking a sip.

Accustomed to the commander's praise, Triss simply thanked him with a nod and continued on with her meal. As she ate, Cullen rubbed his chin in deep thought. He wordlessly ticked off his fingers one by one.

"Something troubling you?" Triss asked when Cullen narrowed his eyes and crinkled his brow. "Only, I know you like to calculate trebuchet trajectories over dinner like the absolute workaholic you are."

Cullen shot her a glare. "This time, I'm certain I tasted garlic."

Her teasing smile faltered. Triss stabbed at her flank of salmon, its pink-orange flesh breaking at the touch of her fork prongs.

"Garlic, olive oil, sage, pepper, salt..." He leaned in a little closer. "One more taste, and I'll have it."

"Why do you do that?"

Cullen frowned. "Do what?"

Triss rose from the table and gathered their plates, her appetite vanishing along with her easy smile. The Inquisitor trudged down the hall, only a few clusters of noblemen lingering near the throne, and opened the door to the kitchens. Cullen hastened after her, armour clinking with every footstep. He rushed to follow her down the stairs and into the long, darkened chamber near Josephine's office.

"Why do I do what, Triss?" he pressed worriedly.

Triss didn't stop until she reached the kitchens, where she practically threw their plates into the sink. She spun around and gripped the edge of the counter.

"Why do you insist on guessing the ingredients?" she snapped.

Cullen blinked dumbly, an utterly lost expression clouding his face. "Where is this mood coming from, love?"

Triss's knuckles blanched, she grasped the counter so tightly. "Is it fun to watch me squirm, Cullen? Do you get some sort of pleasure from my obvious discomfort?"

"You tease me all the time," he reminded her.

She shook her head. "This is different. I told you not to ask me about my salmon recipe. I said it was for family to know, and family alone."

Cullen laughed in disbelief. "Triss, it... It's just a salmon marinade. Nothing to be upset over."

He stepped forward and grasped her shoulders. Triss jerked away from his hands.

"Is nothing sacred? I have shared everything with you. Every part of me." She bowed her head, sections of her short, dark hair falling into her face. "But this is special. This is family, Cullen. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just can't bring myself to share that with you."

Triss raked one hand through her hair. "And you taking every opportunity to guess the recipe just... It makes me angry, Cullen!" She blinked, and tears spilled over her cheeks. "I haven't seen them in so long and I -- The one time you decide to develop a sense of humour you --”

Cullen stepped away from her. When he spoke, his voice was cold and hard.  
"What I'm hearing, Triss, is that you don't want me to be a part of your family. Don't pretend as if this is the first time you've harboured secrets from me. You've scarcely told me about your siblings. I know nothing of your parents. I've yet to meet any of your family -- and as far as I know, they aren't even aware I exist."

Triss laughed once, a bitter edge to the sound. "And what of your family? This elusive Mia woman I hear about once or twice a year? Branson and Rosalie? Why, I'm shocked I remember their names at all, I've only heard them once."

Her lips curled into a disgusted sneer. "I have tried plenty of times to learn about your kin. I even suggested more than once that we visit them. Perhaps you know nothing of my family, but it is because you never asked."

"Are you so surprised I've avoided the topic?" Cullen barked. "Every time I ask something, I'm told it's a sacred Trevelyan secret an outsider has no right to!"

Triss was gone. She had left in the middle of his argument. Cullen rubbed his temples, feeling a headache brewing. They had gone an entire three weeks without a petty argument. They had gone four months without severe conflict. And now they were blown apart by a piece of fish? How would Cullen explain the Inquisitor's coldness at war council? _She is upset because I complimented the salmon she made me._

Cullen's frustration burned in his heart up until he returned to his quarters. In the quiet, his anger relented. His office seemed bigger, and the thoughts that ran in tight circles in his mind made the world seem smaller. Triss wouldn’t visit him – at least not for anything outside of work. Cullen knew from experience that the Inquisitor could silently, if not easily, spend weeks without speaking to him. Even if an apology hung on her lips, ready, she would not yield until he did.

 _How long will_ this _time last?_ Now as he sat at his desk, piles of work before him, realizing that he could very well spend the next month without Triss, Cullen couldn't help mulling over every word that had been exchanged in the argument.

Triss was right, of course. She never started a shouting match over something meagre or wrong. Cullen had, he realized, avoided discussing his family. It was only understandable that Triss was upset; they had been together for two years now.

But at the same time, Cullen was right, too. By not asking about her family, the commander had believed he was giving her the space she needed. Where, after all, were the lines between their work and personal relationships? And where, by the latter, was that between lover and family? He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes as more thoughts spun around his head, dizzying until at last he decided to leave _that_ answer up to the Maker and the bards.

Cullen opened one of his desk drawers and rummaged through the loose papers therein. Ever since being marked, Triss had shared herself with all of Thedas. Nothing was left that hadn't been laid bare for the world to inspect and judge. So too had Cullen been under careful examination. The commander had learned from the Champion of Kirkwall that heroes had no secrets. Perhaps they had shared much with each other. Perhaps they had shared the wrong parts. Perhaps they neglected the rest.

When Cullen found what he was looking for, he gathered up the papers until he held a three-inch-thick pack of letters. The commander rose from his chair and left his office, making for the Inquisitor's chambers in the main keep. She would be in a meeting with Josephine, and her rooms would be empty. As he strode across the courtyard and up the long, stone steps to the keep, Cullen ran his thumb over a sentence of the top letter.

_Triss? Not Inquisitor? Not Her Worship, the Herald of Andraste? Your last letter was far too short._

Mia's sweeping script ignited fierce nostalgia in him. He regretted the hasty reply he had sent her. As Cullen opened the door to Triss's chambers, he vowed to sit down and write his sister a proper letter. And Rosalie, and Branson, too, whose letters were stacked under Mia's in his hands.

He laid down the pile on Triss's desk and left.


	2. Honey - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After delivering a stack of letters to the Inquisitor's office, Cullen finds a surprise in his chambers the next day.

"You pulled me away from my work to show me what, exactly?"

The recruit rubbed the back of his neck. "We couldn't find swords, and there are none on the rack outside."

Cullen glared at him. "Perhaps the armoury?" he shot back impatiently. "The upper training yard? The hall you completed your drills in yesterday because you couldn't stand the rain?"

"Oh."

"Somewhere a logical, responsible soldier would look? Maker, must I hold your hands through this war? I thought you might have developed some form autonomy by now."

"Yes, ser. Sorry, ser." The recruit scampered away, unable to endure any more of the commander's scolding.

Cullen heaved a sigh and started his ascent to his quarters. As he approached the steps of the battlements, the scarlet-and-purple colouring of Inquisitor Trevelyan's attire caught his eye. Triss stood by one of the nearby vendors. Her hands moved and waved as she spoke. The merchant nodded receptively, lifting this belt and that scabbard for the Herald's inspection.

Had she read the letters? If she did, Triss showed no indication of it. Was she waiting for him so they could talk? No, she would have lingered inside if she found his office empty. Cullen nearly ran into the door, his mind was so muddled with questions.

Maker's Breath, was it possible he had received _more_ work during his two-minute outing? The pile on his desk seemed much larger than that which he had left. Cullen practically fell into his chair. He shut his tired eyes for a moment before delving back into his work. The commander plucked the next document from the stack.

_"Triss,_

_"To be perfectly frank with you -- as you are a frank person -- I too find it strange that you write your great-aunt regarding your personal affairs. But your father is only interested in the Inquisition as an organization that might benefit him. And your siblings? From my last visit, I have found that they are held by the intrigue of your mark, your political sway, and the gossip you apparently partake in with the Orlesian Court. I am sure you can tell which sibling is interested in which."_

Cullen stopped reading. He flipped the paper over. The seal was of House Trevelyan, the blob of grey wax crudely broken. He continued to read:

_"Your last letter left me gasping for more information. Commander Rutherford seems a charming if not... stoic man, at least from what you have written in the past. You did not say in your last letter: have you taken my advice and reigned in your tongue? Triss, I adore you, but your humour can turn to biting remarks rather quickly, you know. Flirting can easily be mistaken for a lashing, I daresay. But it seems your commander has gotten the right message._

_"He told you on the battlements, you said? How romantic! And no, my dear, you are mistaken: your heart is meant to beat so frantically that it frightens you."_

Cullen smiled at the memory of their first kiss. He never knew Triss had been so moved by it. He set the paper aside, wise to why his desk seemed more cluttered now, and took up the next letter.

_"You know, my dear, I have a handful of friends in the very same village. I could send them letters, asking them for their opinion on the Rutherfords. Though by the sounds of your last letter, you care not for anyone beyond this Cullen fellow._

_"What happened to that Dorian Pavus? The elf, Sera? Your soldier friends? The Iron Bull (to whom you must one day introduce me)? Are they still alive? Every letter that arrives at my doorstep begins with the name 'Cullen.' Though I can hardly blame you. The sketch you sent me was ravishing. But, if you would heed my advice, my dear: it is not polite to draw someone whilst they practice shirtless in the training yard."_

Cullen flushed. He never knew Triss sketched him. He had glimpsed her pieces of Cassandra and Blackwall, and watched as Cole peered over her shoulder as she drew the flowers in the gardens. That would explain the morning I awoke to her hastily slapping her sketchbook shut and -- _Sweet Maker, she didn't send her great-aunt that sketch, did she?_ Cullen turned to the next letter. It simply read:

_"Triss,_

_"That is not the proper use of a desk._

_"Lucille"_

Cullen hid his face in his hands, gloves rasping against his stubble. When he regained his composure, he read through the rest of the letters. They were a compilation of Lucille's advice, her comments on Triss's "gushing", and her opinion of the commander. In the last letter, she wrote, _"His actions at Adamant were brave. He sounds like a true Trevelyan already. Marry him immediately, or your father and brother will duel for his hand in marriage."_

Cullen flipped the last letter over and sat back in his chair. A warm feeling filled him, tinged by embarrassment at how many intimate details Triss had shared with her Great-Aunt Lucille. She made it no secret that she loved him, of course. The Inquisitor often brought him small trinkets from her travels; gloves from Emprise du Lion, a small banner of Ferelden from The Hinterlands, massage oils of lavender and strawberry from Val Royeax (“We're sharing these.”), and a carven crystal lion from The Storm Coast just to name a few.

Not only the gifts, but Triss showed her affection by dragging him to bed, bringing him supper when he worked late... _Taking the time to make me salmon when it's hardly her job to do so._ Cullen frowned. If her great-aunt already considered him a part of the family, who was he to complain? Perhaps Triss could show it more. But then again, so could he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Thanks for reading.


	3. Honey - Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reading each others' letters, Cullen and Triss make up -- and Triss reveals something to Cullen that leaves him speechless.

Over the next few days, they did not speak of their exchange of letters. Lucille's replies made it back to Triss; so, too, did the Rutherfords' letters find their way back to Cullen's desk drawer. A wordless understanding now stood between them. All was well. He knew it the night she slipped into his bed and wrapped her arms around him.

“I'm sorry,” she had murmured before kissing the nape of his neck.

“So am I,” he had replied.

Now they stood in the kitchens together, bumping hips and elbows, weeping at the fresh onions and yelping at the sizzling oil. They had promised Josephine a meal worthy of an Orlesian dinner party for her birthday. Triss scoffed at his idea of gourmet, but allowed him to join her in preparing the food.

“Careful!” she cried as Cullen laid a lamb flank in the pan to sear it. “Did you pat that dry? Water plus oil equals... Equals terrible. Trust me; you do not want to get burned as I did.”

That was another way she told him she loved him, Cullen had found. Ever since reading the letters, he had noticed all she did for him to show her adoration. Though he did not realize it before, Triss spoke of her love more often than he knew. “Eat something.” “Take your coat: Bull nearly froze his nipples off out there.” “Can we play chess? It's all that keeps me sane.” “Put the papers down and come to bed.”

She fell silent as she sliced vegetables into a vibrant slaw. The methodical chop and hiss-spit of hot oil was all that filled the kitchens. When at last she spoke, her voice was oddly shy.

“Honey.”

“Yes?”

“No, I mean... Honey.” Triss peeked over her shoulder at him, then just as quickly turned back to the vegetables. “Garlic, olive oil, sage, salt, pepper, and honey.”

Out of every one of her “I love you's”, this was by far his favourite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for Part Two.


End file.
